


Seize the Day

by mustdefine



Series: Crooked Line [1]
Category: Gymnastics RPF
Genre: 2012 Summer Olympics, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-10
Updated: 2012-12-10
Packaged: 2017-11-20 19:04:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/588647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mustdefine/pseuds/mustdefine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set at the London Olympics. </p>
<p>In another life, she might have chosen a girl like this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aly angsts after qualifiers and finds comfort in an unlikely source.

The ride back to the Village is about a century long and a million kinds of awkward. Everyone else is talking about qualifiers and the upcoming team final, but Aly’s eyes keep straying to the back of Jordyn’s head two rows up. She doesn’t need to see Jordyn’s face to know exactly how hard her best friend is struggling to keep it together. If Jo were within reach, Aly would work the tension from that bowed neck with strong fingers and a joke. But Jo isn’t within reach, not tonight.

The shuttle pulls up to their apartment complex. Gymnasts and staff pile out into the aisle.  McKayla’s close enough to hear her and, coincidentally, the least burdened down with bags, so Aly grabs her sleeve. 

“Mac, take my stuff for me?” she says in an undertone.

“You’re not coming up?”

Aly shakes her head.

McKayla’s green eyes flick over to Jordyn, who’s disappearing out the shuttle door at a speed only marginally slower than a vault run. She nods in comprehension and lifts Aly’s duffel from the seat. “Sure.”

Aly retrieves a few things from her backpack on the way out of the shuttle. Phone, keycard, and two loose tissues in case of waterworks later. “There you go. Thanks so much, Mac, I owe you—whoa, got that?”

“No worries, got it,” McKayla grunts as she hoists several giant bags over her shoulder. She’s the last of the shuttle passengers. One of the trainers holds the lobby door for her and looks at Aly, but McKayla says something to him. He shrugs and closes the door (sometimes it’s good to be 18). Aly lets out a breath, heads away from the apartments. She wants a shower, dinner, and her bed in that order, but all that can wait. Jordyn needs some space. Hell, Aly needs some space to process what just happened. 

_Damn it, Jo, I didn’t think it would be like this. Nobody did, not even me, I don’t watch scoreboards, I didn’t even believe this was possible. I just wanted to go out and do my best. I seized the day and look where it got us._

They are both world-class gymnasts. Teammates and best friends, but never rivals. Everyone knows how things stand with the core of Team USA: Jordyn the humble star, Gabby the bubbly upstart, and—Aly. She knows she’s on the team not for flashiness but for consistency, leadership, and nerves of steel. Now that the unthinkable’s happened and everything’s unbalanced, she needs time to figure out what to say to Jordyn. Aly thinks of her best friend up there alone in their room, struggling to comprehend what happened this evening. Crying, most likely, and who can blame her? Everyone knew the only thing surer than a vault medal for McKayla had been all-around placement for Jo. Jo’s peaked, ready for the Games, ready to back up her status as world champion with an Olympic AA gold. She’s got more gymnastics left in her, but another quad’s worth? Another Olympics’ worth? This was her best chance. The London Games have been Jordyn’s dream for years.

And yet, they’ve been Aly’s dream as well.

And yet.

Jo’s determined face, seen a million times in practice. Jo’s words, that first evening in London: _I’m so happy we’re here together. I’m glad it’s you and me._ Jo’s tears tonight. Aly’s own tears, for more complicated reasons.

She stuffs her hands into her jacket pockets and blinks rapidly.  _Fuck._

If Aly wasn’t so tired and if team finals weren’t in two days, she’d go hit the gym. Nothing concentrates her mind like beam. It’s not her best event, but she’s become a good beam worker out of sheer force of will. There’s no room for error or emotion. Staying in the zone is something Aly Raisman is very good at. In fact, she’s working the thousand-yard stare so well that it takes her a few moments to realize she’s not alone out here. A girl is perched on a bench in a grassy area just ahead of her, winding up a phone call. Aly stops in her tracks.

Aliya Mustafina is something of a legend. Aly’s never let that intimidate her in competition, though. Tonight she posted a higher qualifying score than Aliya, second only to Aliya’s teammate Viktoria Komova. But she’s never had much of a chance to talk with the Russian athlete before, as there’s little time at meets to socialize. Not that Aly speaks much Russian. Sometimes she wonders why she took Spanish in high school when her main rivals are from eastern Europe. 

“Privet,” she ventures.

“Privet,” Aliya replies. She slides her phone into her pocket and gazes serenely at Aly. In that moment, Aly realizes how tired her legs and feet feel. She’s definitely been walking for a while if she’s wound up in Russian territory. Not good … she needs to rest up for Tuesday.

“Mind if I sit down?” she asks. She knows Aliya speaks a little English. If she’s anything like Aly, she’ll read and hear a second language better than she can speak it.

“Please.”

She sits and steals a glance at Aliya, wishing she could feel as tranquil inside as Aliya looks. She’s always admired the Mustafina calm. She’s admired other things as well, before another girl became increasingly prominent in her thoughts.

“You were incredible today,” Aly says to break the silence. “You and your whole team, just absolutely amazing, and I’m really looking forward to competing against you on Tuesday and in the all-around.”

“Thank you. You also were good.”  

She smiles in answer and slouches against the bench. The silence builds again as thoughts of Jordyn creep back to the forefront of her mind. If her friend had qualified to the AA as expected, Aly would have been beyond happy for her, never verbalizing whatever disappointment she might have felt on her own behalf. If in some alternate universe they’d brought another all-arounder instead of a specialist and that person had knocked Jo out of the running, Aly would have been able to comfort her. As things stand, it’s weird for the team dynamic, but that’s not what Aly’s really worried about. Team USA will pull their shit together and get that gold or die trying. She’s worried about her and Jo and what they might be some day. What Aly wants them to be.

She’s not sure how Jordyn feels. She doesn’t think Jordyn even knows that Aly’s realized she likes girls (and one in particular). There never seems to be a good moment to talk about it, and tonight complicates things immensely. Jo isn’t petty … she won’t hold being knocked out of the AA against Aly. But tonight is something she’ll remember for the rest of her life every time she sees Aly. That is not what Aly wants and it’s no way to begin a relationship.  _Hey, remember that time I totally accidentally stole your dream? Wanna make out?_

_Dear God, what am I going to say to her?_ It’s half a prayer. She wishes her rabbi was here. She doesn’t really want to talk to her parents about this.

“Are you OK?” 

Aly’s forgotten she’s sitting next to Mustafina. Those cool hazel eyes draw her gaze like a magnet. “You are … not here,” the Russian girl says, twirling a finger. “Not OK?”

“No,” Aly says. “I’m sorry. I kind of have a lot on my mind.” 

Aliya arches an eyebrow. Aly takes a deep breath. She knows she shouldn’t reveal how much turmoil she’s in to one of her biggest competitors right before the Olympics team final, but she feels the words bubbling up from inside, and Aliya’s just sitting there all quiet and inviting.

“It’s my teammate Jordyn. I did better than she did in qualifying, so I’m in the all-around and she isn’t, and she wanted it so badly and I barely hoped for it for myself. She’s my roommate and my best friend and I love her more than I love myself, and I don’t know how to get us through this.” Despite herself, her voice wavers. Aly feels an uncontrollable prickle at the backs of her eyes. She swipes at her cheeks almost angrily and pulls a tissue out of her pocket. Damn it, if her coaches find out she not only spilled her guts to a Russian but also cried in front of her … Mustafina’s probably so quiet because she’s figuring out how to turn this to Federation advantage. 

Then an arm settles around her shoulders. Startled, Aly looks over at the other girl, but sees only compassion. 

“Is difficult, with love,” Aliya says slowly. “When I have knee injury, I am in gym always, but I cannot work. All teammates go to competitions, but I go home and watch the TV. Is hard, very hard, especially with Vika. Vika Komova—my teammate—is …” She tilts her face up to the moonlight as if to search for words. She’s gorgeous, even without her competition makeup. “Vika and me, like sisters. Family. We live together, train always, every day I see her face. So months when she trains and I cannot … hard, very hard. Then when knee is good, we battle many times. I want her to win, but I want to win too. She have gold, I have silver. I have gold, she have silver. Still, I have love. We have love.” 

“How do you do it?” 

Aliya shrugs. “Each battle, we do not think, ‘Maybe I win, maybe she win.’ We compete. We train.  _We …_ are not all competing, all training. Separate things. Vika and me, we make the time together, and we always are happy about each other. Is not same with you?”

“No … I mean, yes. I mean … I haven’t … ” Aly bites her lip. 

“Will you ever tell her?”

The question’s too perceptive. Aliya’s too close, too pretty, too oddly gentle. Anyone who says Mustafina is a stone-faced ice queen hasn’t seen the way her eyes go liquid warm when she feels something strongly—hasn’t seen how she’s there for her teammates, or how she’s gone out of her way to comfort a crazy, emotional American. Aly feels an irrational urge to close the remaining distance between them, kiss that beautiful mouth, and forget everything for a time. _Carpe diem._  There’s a charged moment when it might be possible. Aliya lifts her chin in either challenge or warning, and Aly can feel her control slipping. 

But no. Aliya has her teammate (which makes perfect sense, Aly’s seen them with each other). And Jordyn has her, even if she doesn’t have Jordyn and never will. ”Yes,” Aly says, meeting Aliya’s eyes again. “I will. Tonight. And I hope you’re right, that we can be separate from training and competing and be  _us,_ like you and Vika.”

The Russian girl nods and rises. Aly stands too. She fingers the keycard in her pocket and looks down the street toward the US section, feeling nervous. ”Good luck,” Aliya says.

Aly smiles warmly at her new friend. “You too, and thank you so much. You’re amazing.”

There’s a hint of a smile on the placid countenance. Aliya swiftly kisses her cheek. “ _Spokoinai nochi,_ ” she says, and walks away before Aly can move.

The walk back is long, but Aly is strangely at peace. Maybe Mustafina’s calm did rub off on her. She rides the elevator back up and hesitates for only a moment before she swipes her card. Across the room, Jordyn rises. The look on her face makes Aly well up with tears all over again. “Jo,” she starts, and gets no further. Jordyn’s there in a second to hug her tightly. They’re both crying. “I’m sorry, I love you,” Aly sobs.

“Don’t say that,” Jordyn says.

_What? Which one?_

Jordyn sets Aly at arm’s length before she can ask. “I’m so proud of you,” she says. And though Aly can tell how much it’s cost her to be able to say this, there’s not a resentful bone in Jordyn Wieber’s body. “You’re going to go out there and kill it and I’m going to be cheering you on. You are amazing and I love you so much.”

She knows with unerring certainty that this is her moment. Aly lifts her head and looks at her friend the same way she looks at the beam: stomach in knots, eyes steady. “Do you? Because I love you, and I’m  _in_ love with you, and I don’t want gymnastics to come between us. Not a meet or a medal or anything on this whole planet.”

Jordyn doesn’t even hesitate. She pulls Aly close and kisses her. “Nothing could ever come between us,” she says soberly. “Now let’s get you out of that leo.”

Much later, Aly breathes, “I really do love you, you know.”

Jo whispers back, “I know, you dork. I’ve just been waiting for you to figure it out, for, like, _ever_.”

Aly smiles and leans her forehead against Jordyn’s. Somewhere out there is a Russian who deserves some credit for tonight. For now, though, there’s only one girl in Aly’s world.


	2. Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Alka. You found me.” “Yes. Though it appears that you’ve been found already.”

Komova’s gone missing.

Vika puts a brave face on during the press conference and during the party in their room, but Aliya knows her friend too well to think she’ll accept an all-around silver medal that quickly. It doesn’t help that about half the people at the party have been talking about unfair judging. Most of the team and training staff believe that Komova earned the AA gold medal tonight. But with typical Russian fatalism, most of those conversations have ended with a shrug. There’s nothing they can do about the score now. After all, Komova opened the door with her mistakes on vault and beam. Gabby Douglas gave a tremendous performance and won, simple as that. Now there are event finals to think about.

Aliya waits for about fifteen minutes after she sees Vika duck outside, just in case she left to make a phone call. But there’s no sign of Vika. Other people are passing around flasks. Paseka’s blaring some dance music from her phone and is breaking it down with a few of the staff. Nobody notices the bronze medalist leave in the hubbub. 

Aliya pads down the hall in her bare feet. She checks several rooms, but they’ve been abandoned for the celebration. Aliya has a feeling that Vika’s not in the apartment building any more. She goes back into her room to grab a pair of shoes and to find Afanasyeva. 

“Have you seen Vika?”

“Yeah, she’s right over …” Kseniia’s eyes narrow as she scans the room.

“She left twenty minutes ago,” Aliya says. Kseniia sighs. The veteran gymnast knows Vika almost as well as Aliya does. Vika is no doubt hiding somewhere and beating herself up for letting the gold slip through her fingers. Someone needs to talk her down before she psychs herself out of medal position in bars and beam. The question is, where has she gone? Vika’s very good at finding corners to hide in.

”You checked the rooms?”

“Yes.”

They don’t tell Gennady that his protege is missing. Best not to create needless drama. If Gennady notices Komova’s absence on his own, he’ll probably also notice that Aliya and Kseniia are gone and figure they’re all together. They split up outside. Aliya heads for the sculpture park that Vika liked so much. It’s a tiring walk after competing four events without much chance for rest. As she walks, Aliya considers her performance tonight in the context of her upcoming event finals. She received 14.600 on floor and 16.100 on bars. Improving her score for floor and bars finals is possible, although she’s not too worried about bars. She’s pretty happy with how the evening went overall. She hadn’t counted on a medal after that fall on beam, so to add a bronze to her collection is an unexpected blessing. 

One that came at the expense of another.

Aliya is not sentimental. She doesn’t believe in regrets. If she wins, someone else loses. It is the nature of sport. Yet the FIG tiebreaker rules can mean heartbreak. Raisman is a worthy competitor … to see her left without recognition for tremendous effort is a shame. 

As if summoned by Aliya’s thoughts, a compact woman with long hair crosses the street half a block in front of her. Aliya squints. The girl has Aly Raisman’s coloring, body language, and penchant for wandering around in the dark.  _That’s strange. If it is Raisman, she’s got to be as tired as I am. What is she doing out here?_ Aliya realizes the woman is headed for the sculpture park too.

When Aliya arrives at the park, she sees the dark-haired girl standing on the grass next to a big sculpture. She’s staring at something. Aliya moves slightly to the side to see better and catches a glimpse of Komova. She’s nestled against a statue of a gorilla, hugging her knees with her forehead on her arms. The picture of utter dejection is completed when she sniffles. Clearly she’s been crying for a while. 

The girl Aliya’s followed rocks a little on her heels, as if trying to decide what to do. She moves forward suddenly. Vika looks up. Aliya ducks behind another sculpture, suddenly curious. 

“Hey … are you OK?” 

It is Raisman. By now Aliya would recognize that voice anywhere. She’s heard it unwavering and positive in the arena—and, a few nights ago, trembling and miserable. 

Vika looks at Aly warily. She doesn’t know more than a handful of English phrases.

“I was just walking by and I heard you and I thought maybe you could use someone to talk to. You totally don’t have to, I just …”

Aliya’s teammate still looks distrustful and confused. Raisman has the good sense to try another approach. She digs in her jeans pocket and crouches in front of Vika, holding out a tissue. “Here.”

Vika takes the tissue after a moment of hesitation. She blows her nose. 

“Big night, huh?” No response. Raisman tries again, points at Vika. “You … were great. Your floor exercise … wow!” That elicits a heart-meltingly pathetic attempt at a smile. “Can I … ?” She points at the grass next to Vika, then slides around next to her. Aliya can see Raisman’s face now in the light of a nearby streetlight. The American looks at Vika, whose head is drooping toward her knees again. She tentatively pats Vika’s back. Another sniffle. Raisman purses her expressive mouth in thought. “Hey, you like dogs, right? I’ve got something I bet you’ll love.” She pulls out her phone and swipes at it. Whatever clip she’s loaded is hard to hear at this distance but sounds like a dog yapping. That gets Vika’s attention. She even giggles once. Raisman twists two fingers in the air. “Form break. Deduction!” Vika understands that well enough and smiles for real this time. Aliya’s heart melts a little at the sight.

“You? Dog?” Vika asks in English.

“Yes, that’s my dog. We taught him to do a flip a couple of months ago. Here, I have another one.”

Vika watches the second video intently. Then she folds her legs, tailor-style, and retrieves her own phone from a pocket. “My dog,” she explains. More tinny yapping.

“Awwwww, he’s so cute! You must miss him, huh?”

 Vika nods and looks dejected again. Aliya winces slightly. It’s always touch and go with Komova, but her dog is definitely a sore spot when she’s already emotional. 

“I miss my dog and my parents. I want to go home and pretend tonight didn’t happen, but I can’t. When I go home, everyone will ask me, ‘Vika, why didn’t you get the gold medal? Why did you fail?’ But I won’t have an answer for them. What if I fail next week too? I will disappoint not just myself and my teammates, but all of Russia.” 

Raisman doesn’t speak Russian, but tears are a universal language. “Oh, sweetie … ” She puts a strong arm around Vika and hugs her. Aliya takes the opportunity to leave the cover of her statue. The American looks up in surprise as Aliya kneels in front of Vika and takes her teammate’s hands in hers.

Vika sniffs hard. “Alka. You found me.”

“Yes,” Aliya agrees. “Though it appears that you’ve been found already.” She glances at Raisman. 

“I didn’t mean for things to happen like this. Tonight was supposed to be different.”

Aliya lifts Vika’s chin with a finger. “Hush. You were magnificent. You are a champion to me, always.” 

Vika’s face crumples again. She burrows into Aliya’s shoulder. Aliya pulls her into a hug, strokes her hair, whispers soothing nonsense.  _Oh, my love, I wish you weren’t so hard on yourself._ Her own eyes are damp. Beside them, Raisman looks away, perhaps embarrassed by their intimacy.

“Be strong, Vika. We’ll get through this together.” Aliya cups Vika’s face in her hands. “You must not cry in front of the American, huh?” She makes it into a joke and is rewarded with a tiny smile.

Vika takes a deep breath and exhales. She looks calmer in her friend’s presence. “I’ll be OK, Alka. We should go back. I will sleep and feel better in the morning. Next week  _will_  be different.”

Aliya kisses Vika’s forehead. “There’s the warrior I know. Now up you go.”

All three girls stand. Raisman clears her throat awkwardly. Vika goes over and gives her a hug. “Thank you,” she says in English. 

“Oh, you’re welcome, sweetie.” 

Aliya comes over and sets her hand at the small of Vika’s back. “We’d better hurry or the coaches will start asking questions. Go on ahead of me and text Kseniia, all right? She’s out looking for you too.”

“OK. You’ll catch up with me?”

“Of course.” They kiss goodbye. To Raisman, it probably looks like nothing more than the traditional Russian peck, but Aliya flicks her tongue against Vika’s upper lip. Her teammate sets off with more bounce in her step than seems right for someone that emotionally exhausted. But then, Vika knows their signal for what will happen later tonight. 

Aliya turns to Raisman and sizes her up. She’s impressed by what she’s seen of the American’s character. On a night when Raisman’s suffered such disappointment, she could have chosen not to help Vika—who, after all, does have a medal to show for her efforts. Instead, she put aside her own emotions and helped a stranger. It’s no wonder the US team chose her to be captain.

“You are very kind,” Aliya says. 

The other girl’s voice is soft. “So are you.”

“Hmm,” Aliya says, remembering a park bench a few nights ago and a pair of beseeching brown eyes. “Don’t tell anyone.” 

Raisman laughs. “I won’t.”

Aliya starts walking. The other gymnast keeps pace at her side. “I am sorry for tonight.”

“Oh, it’s no problem, I don’t know how anyone could have walked by without stopping.”

“Yes, thank you for Vika. But I am also sorry for—for no medal. You are good competitor, Raisman.”

“Thank you. You definitely were amazing and it’s an honor to compete against you. And call me Aly, please.”

“You do not like Alexandra?”

“It’s OK, I guess …”

Aliya thinks about it. “I like it. It is a pretty name. I will call you Alexandra.” She nods decisively as the other girl stifles a laugh. “I must return. You go there, yes?”

“Yes, my building’s that way. Hey … about what you said to me that night …” She pauses and bites her lip. Aliya waits. If Wieber was crazy enough to turn down this girl, Aliya wouldn’t be adverse to kicking Wieber in the face on general principle. Alexandra’s too good-hearted to be rejected like that.

But an enormous grin splits Alexandra’s face. “You were right. You were so right. I took a chance and talked to Jordyn and things are going to be amazing. I can’t believe it—I mean, we still have to concentrate on the competition—but I can tell everything’s going to work out.”

“Good,” Aliya says sincerely. Perhaps she should wish confusion on her enemies, but she can’t quite bring herself to wish that in this case. 

“And I just wanted to say that you and Viktoria are so cute together and I’m really happy for you both.” 

“Thank you.” 

They hug goodbye. Aliya feels the muscles in the American’s back slide against her fingers under the thin T-shirt. In another life, she might have chosen a girl like this: steady, solid, kind. But waiting patiently in their room is a quicksilver waif with eyes like the sea, closer than her own heartbeat. 

Aliya feels the night breeze catch her hair and closes her eyes in pleasure. She has no regrets. 


End file.
